One Knight
by Emurlee
Summary: Yet another Bevier fanfic from me. :) Going to be quite long.
1. Chapter 1

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Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own David Eddings or any of the characters that he created. Yet. My birthday is coming up. v_v

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A/N: Sorry for the shortness. There's going to be a good few more chapters, once I get this thing going. ^_^ _And yes, I am aware I write too many Bevier fanfics. _^^'

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Bevier couldn't help but roll his eyes. His companions were making a huge scene, and it was rather embarrassing. Ulath and Kalten were doing a duet on a table, dancing along to their own vulgar singing. Tynian was arguing somewhat loudly and fiercely with another bar resident, who was equally drunk. Young Berit had disappeared outside several minutes before, looking sort of green and unwell, and Bevier strongly suspected he was being very ill outside the tavern. Khalad and Sparhawk were, admittedly, not quite as drunk as the others, but they were intoxicated enough to be throwing random objects on the fire and laughing uncontrollably as they burned. These objects included letters, beer mugs, plates and bowls and other assorted cutlery, as well as the legs of a table that Kalten and Ulath had broken some minutes before.

Bevier sighed and sipped his drink. Though they had been in the tavern for several hours, he was only on his second drink, and wasn't planning to have any more. The others, however, were all at the very least on their seventh, and the knight thought that Ulath and Kalten were on their tenth, maybe more. He also thought that Berit had managed six or eight before his stomach became unable to hold the strong ale any longer.

Of course, a birthday _is_ a reason to celebrate, and Bevier _was_ celebrating, in his own way- usually he would have no more than one drink.

But seeing as it was _his_ birthday, he had hoped that they would refrain from intoxicating themselves with _too_ much alcohol. As it was…

There was a resounding crash that echoed through the room as Kalten fell off the table. Then there was an evil-sounding creak, a crack, and Ulath fell on top of him as the table finally gave way. Bevier watched them for a minute more before turning away and staring into his mug. Tynian's argument seemed to be getting more and more heated, although both men were so drunk the words were barely intelligible. Sparhawk and Khalad had joyfully grabbed the pieces of broken table and were pyromaniacally watching them burn. Bevier sighed.

"All alone?" a voice asked sympathetically. He looked up. A young lady stood there, a mug of something clasped in her hand. She wasn't a barmaid, he could tell immediately; she dressed more subtly, for one thing. Her hair was long, curly and dark brown, and her skin was olive- she looked at least half Arcian. She smiled, glancing at the drunken men.

"Are those your friends?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "when they're sober enough to talk rationally." The girl laughed then.

"I have friends like that," she said, her face lit with a wide smile. "Only… they don't usually get _quite_ as drunk as _your_ friends. Are they celebrating anything in particular?"

"Birthday," he answered flatly. The girl wasn't put off by his tone.

"Oh? Whose?"

"Mine," he sighed, and her expression changed.

"You have _got_ to be joking!" she exclaimed. "Some friends they are!" She paused, apparently realising she might have offended him. "I'm sure they're nice enough, when they're sober," she added cautiously. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

He shrugged indifferently. The girl took it as an affirmative, and sat down.

"You're Arcian?" she asked, after there was a rather uncomfortable silence. He nodded. "They're not, I see. Did you all come here to Chyrellos to meet for your birthday?"

"Yes," he replied reluctantly. "I'll be going back to Larium tomorrow. They won't," he added observantly. "They'll all be in bed, nursing hangovers."

"I'll say," she agreed. "Do you live in Larium?"

"Most of the time. My home is a small fief called Ciranus, not far from here, but the Cyrinic chapterhouse is in Larium."

"Ciranus?!" she whispered with a gulp. "You're Church Knights?" she asked then, her voice alarmed. He nodded, slightly surprised by her change in tone.

"From all four orders. There are three Pandions here- that blonde one on the floor is one. The big one on top of him is a Genidian, and the one shouting in the corner is an Alcione. I'm a Cyrinic." He was surprised at how much the drink had loosened his tongue. The knight reasoned that it was because he was not used to alcohol. The girl, meanwhile, seemed be getting more and more agitated.

"You live in Ciranus?" she asked, her voice shaky and uneasy. He nodded, a slight frown furrowing his brow. The girl swallowed, hard.

"I… I must go. Now," she said, jumping up, her face turning very pale. "Goodbye." She said it very firmly as she fled, leaving the tavern, and her untouched drink still sitting on the table. Bevier finished the last drops in his tankard and looked at the mug that had belonged to the now-absent young woman.

"Well," he murmured, "waste not, want not."

He gulped the ale down.


	2. Chapter 2

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YetAnotherDisclaimer: Nope, still don't own Eddings or his characters. Surprising, huh?

JustALittleNote: See, see, I _said_ I'd get him drunk. I got Bevvie drunk. o_O

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There was pain, lots of pain, all around him and throbbing in his skull. When he opened his eyes, the white light burned him like red-hot pokers in his eyes. He closed them again.

"You drunk more than I've ever seen you _look_ at," a voice said wonderingly. "What came over you, Bevier?"

"I don't know…" he muttered, trying to block out the pain in his head. The voice was like a dozen hammers all bashing away at his brain.

"You must have had at least five mugs," the voice continued. "Bevier, I've never seen you _touch_ more than one. I can't talk, of course, I had seven. But my stomach is stronger than yours, obviously."

"Don't lie," the Cyrinic groaned. "I saw you go out. How sick were you, Berit?"

He was sure as he said it that the young Pandion was blushing furiously.

"Well, at least _I_ got it out of my system," he defended himself. "You, however, now have your first ever hangover. Congratulations."

"Not my first," Bevier corrected, rubbing his eyes and remembering the time he and a friend, as children, had got into his father's store of home-made wine and had drunk until they both passed out. It hadn't been all that pleasant in the morning, especially with his father very angry with him.

"Well, second then, whatever. I'm the only healthy one, this morning. You should see Kalten. He's too sick to even get out of bed to find a nice barrel of water to dunk his head in."

"You talk too much, Berit, you're getting as bad as Tynian," muttered the knight. "Now get out. My head is in enough pain as it is without _you_ adding more to it. Go on."

"Yes, Sir Bevier," the Pandion said mockingly. "Or should that be _Sore_ Bevier?" The door slammed. Bevier's hands curled into fists. When his head stopped throbbing, he would kill that boy. As it was, he wasn't sure he could even sit up.

He tried opening his eyes, but the light blinded him so he shut them again.

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Well, well, he thought miserably. _I suppose I've had my first real taste of what they would call "fun", then. Fun. Barrels of fun, this._ It suddenly hit him, something he had never considered before. _This is my second hangover. My second. I'll bet that Kalten had had more hangovers than he had years by the time he even reached twenty._

It wasn't a pleasant thought at all.

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The hangover gradually wore off as the day passed, and at noon he felt well enough to get up. Down in the bar, there was no sign of the strange girl he had met the night before, but there were plenty of other people to talk to- although most of them were too drunk to say anything remotely sensible. So he didn't really bother, choosing a table and sitting down with a mug of grape juice that _looked_ like wine. After a short while, Berit came in grinning. He saw Bevier in the corner and came to join him.

"Sparhawk's in a _dreadful_ mood," he said cheerily. "I swear, if I hadn't left him alone, he would have hacked my head off."

"Very interesting," sighed Bevier, not in the best of moods himself. Berit wasn't discouraged.

"And Tynian's not much better. I went to see if he was alright, and the moment I opened the door, he bellowed at me to leave- although he didn't use _that_ word, I can tell you."

"What about Ulath?" Bevier asked, curious despite his mood.

"I didn't dare go into _his_ room," Berit replied nervously. "He drunk more than Tynian and me combined last night. I didn't know what he might do to me."

"I wouldn't have dared, either," Bevier mused. They sat in contemplative silence for a while until Berit began talking again.

"I heard some interesting news last night," he commented.

"Oh?" replied the Cyrinic, not really all that interested.

"Yes. A band of brigands have been striking all over this area, hitting villages and fiefs. They hit again yesterday, so the news goes- a fief not too far off, in Arcium, I think. I thought you might be interested."

"Arcium? Did you catch the name of the fief?"

"No, they didn't say that. Apparently it wasn't pleasant, though- the bandits burned the fief almost to the ground and killed a lot of innocent people."

Bevier winced. "Sounds nasty. I hope it wasn't anyone I know."

"So do I," the young Pandion agreed. "Are you leaving today?" he added, changing the subject.

"I expect so," replied Bevier. "It'll be a lonely journey, though. I'm not used to travelling alone." He regretted saying that almost immediately.

"I'll come with you," Berit offered, "if you want, that is."

"No, that's alright," he declined immediately. "It's well out of your way."

The young Pandion sighed and looked left out. Bevier held back a grin.

A young maid hurried up, looking terrified.

"Um, I'm terribly sorry to bother you, my Lords," she stammered, "but there's a very angry knight upstairs and he keeps yelling at me when I try to clean the room. I don't know what to do, my Lords…"

"It's alright," sighed Bevier, standing up. "What does the knight look like?" He hazarded a guess. "Large, blond, blue eyes?"

"Yes," the maid agreed. "Very bloodshot blue eyes."

"That'd be Kalten," Berit said nervously. "Do you want to go and talk to him? I don't think I dare." The maid looked even more frightened.

"W-well, if he's really that bad, m-maybe I'll miss out cleaning up _that_ room until he leaves," she faltered. Bevier patted her shoulder.

"Perhaps that's the best way out," he reassured her. "Berit, I really should be going. I want to get back to Larium as soon as I can."

"Do you really think you should go without saying goodbye to the others?" the Elenian asked, sounding hurt. Bevier sighed. He was still feeling a little bit cross about the night before.

"I really should go," he sighed, trying to sound regretful. "Wouldn't want to keep my Preceptor waiting." He nodded a goodbye to Berit, and left the bar, heading to the stables.


End file.
